


Fly Trap

by ozomin



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Tumblr Prompt, drug mention, this is dark, your otp meeting in the woods both are disposing of bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10132025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozomin/pseuds/ozomin
Summary: Hanamiya and Kiyoshi swallow guilt dirt mounds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the next will be soft i promise, probably  
> enjoy!

He can smell the wet undergrowth, crisp stagnant chill biting his nose, whisping through the trees. There's a river nearby, he can hear it.

Hanamiya funnels a thick exhale through pursed lips before hefting the heavy duffle from his shoulders. It fumbles unceremoniously, hits the ground like a bang of thunder in the muffled underbrush. He lets another smaller backpack topple from his shoulders near his feet.

His iced through fingers scramble at arranging the collapsible shovel that he digs out of the largest pocket of the backpack.

Before he can even break ground, what sounds like a hefty rustle in his periphery strikes him still as if in instinct.

He can barely make out the trees in the gloomy night, much less a person. He drops the shovel, as if readying to run. His fight or flight sending his heart into spasms that betray the deathly stillness in his body.

Hanamiya manages to identify the bulk of a body that looks much bigger than his own and before he can do anything else, it's that same body that has abandoned a dark mass a few feet in front of him and taken off a moment later.

With legs that finally kick in, his mind processing as fast as he's ever seen it, and simultaneously not at all before he finds himself giving immediate chase.

The figure falls to the ground presumably after tripping on an exposed root. Hanamiya is quick to take advantage of the turn of events by climbing on top of them and immediately jutting his forearm against the figure's throat.

It's the man's eyes that shake him. Brown as the rotting leaves nestling his head, glowing with a genuine fear Hanamiya had never seen before. A fear that threads through his iris's and dissipates through his skin to Hanamiya's.

"I won't tell," he says, voice drowned in the river current. "I won't tell," he repeats and Hanamiya tightens down his hold.

Even though his voice is barely there, Hanamiya feels the sheer desperation carve its way in though his ears, the way a glacier carves a canyon.

He's mumbling the words over and over and Hanamiya's beginning to think he might be convincing himself more than he is telling Hanamiya anything.

"Who are you?" Hanamiya grits, "no one hangs around here, what are you doing here?" Hanamiya has a sickly inkling churning in his belly but maybe he's actually wrong for once.

The man below him stays quiet, conflict coats the fear in his expression. Hanamiya doesn't let up, even when his instinct tells him this man is big enough to overpower him should he choose to.

With a dirt crusted hand that releases the handful of debris he'd been grasping, he points back behind them both.

To the large bag he'd dropped. 

"I won't run," he says and it seems like another pep talk to himself more than an assurance to Hanamiya.

Hanamiya swallows dry spit, weighing his options. If there's one thing Hanamiya won't do it's take care of someone else's business. 

"Get up," Hanamiya digs in finger's into the man's shirt and tugs hard as he stands. 

He takes a deep breath, immediately aware of the double responsibility he's been handed. He tugs again. With a rattling breath, the man gets up. 

Hanamiya's hands fall to his side, he digs his fingernails into his own palms. This is just an all together shitty day. 

"Shit," Hanamiya curses abruptly, the man jumps. This is the first time Hanamiya's able to get a good look at him. 

He's big, half the size of the withering sapling he's standing next to. Ruddy brown hair and a thick body that gives Hanamiya a sickly harkening to how heavy his body would be in dead weight. 

He doesn't want to ask what's in the bag, so he doesn't. 

Instead Hanamiya gives the man a glance, makes sure to stay aware of his position before making his way to check it out himself. 

He's five feet away when a large hand grabs his wrist, Hanamiya's first instinct is to rear back and punch with his free hand. 

The man's expression, has the ability to stop him before he can. 

"Don't--," He says.

"--Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" Hanamiya grits, he yanks his arm away. "Don't touch me." he inhales sharply, his chest burns. 

The man backs off the same way Hanamiya shies away from that extra bag. 

He doesn't have to ask. 

"You should fuck off before we're both fucking caught," Hanamiya hisses, turns his back and focuses on locating his shovel. 

Hanamiya digs in silence, it's still shallow when he hears the other man strike ground, presumably with his own shovel. 

Well isn't this fucking peachy?

He tries to ignore the sniffling he hears, while watching someone wallow would ordinarily be prime jack-off material, in this case, the pity over takes him and the fear of getting caught overrides everything else. He just wants to finish and pretend none of this happened. 

Otherwise they work fast, they both know this is no situation to loiter longer than they have to. Hanamiya's unwelcome companion is breathing hard, heaving as he digs, shifts between muffling his own sobs and gritting his teeth.

Hanamiya the consummate "professional" he is, digs deep, wipes down the visible parts of body he may have touched, even the shovel itself when he's done with it. His hair is stuffed back into a beanie, anything to avoid leaving traces, he'll ditch his shoes in a dump somewhere, burn his clothes.

He's in the middle of aimlessly, if not intentionally kicking leaves up top the mound to both flatten it and make it look as natural as possible when the man calls to him. 

"Wait--" He says. 

Hanamiya doesn't know why but he hesitates. 

"What--"

"What do I do now?" His voice doesn't feel coherent, it feels like broken bits and pieces floating together before Hanamiya takes them in. 

He throws up his hands, "How am I supposed to know?" Hanamiya turns around to face him. Anger bubbles in his stomach, he approaches the man, takes the front of his shirt into his hands, "Here's what we do," Hanamiya spits, "you stop hanging onto me like I know what I'm doing," he watches loneliness swallow the man's expression, "those," Hanamiya points to the mounds, "those are bodies," Hanamiya pulls at the front of the man's shirt, pulls his face so they're level. "Those are fucking bodies," 

A tear falls from the man's eye. 

"--Those are fucking bodies that we now have to act like they aren't there. We move on." Hanamiya draws in a shuddering breath. "I don't know you and you don't know me." 

...

Hanamiya watches this man eat himself alive over the next month. 

Hanamiya wakes up in cold sweats, his blankets feel like the grit of dirt and his closed eyes the filled mound. He'd thrown out all the drugs he owned after the first night he returned from the forest. He took one look into the drawer and promptly vomited into the nearest houseplant. 

It turns out the man Hanamiya met in the forest works at a nearby convenience store. Hanamiya's considering painkillers, if he can even stomach those, when he spots him and his accompanying name tag through the window. 

Kiyoshi. 

So that bastard has a name huh?

Hanamiya doesn't enter the store, he walks to another one five blocks away and purchases sleeping pills he ends up flushing down the toilet because the thought of taking pills makes him want to vomit again. 

They fuck because Hanamiya hasn't slept properly in weeks and there's nothing to dull the raw ache in his ribs. He passes by that corner store every morning on his way to failing classes and sees him, Kiyoshi, standing there, looking at nothing, wasting away before his eyes. 

He doesn't feel bad because he's in the same position. 

Hanamiya eyes Kiyoshi's even emptier ones and holds his large hand around his throat. 

Maybe he'll actually suffocate. Maybe he'll choke. 

The same way his friend did. 

Kiyoshi lies almost limp on the bed, Hanamiya has to slap him to get any color back. Red spreading down both their chests, the white of come. 

He remembers entering that corner store and watching Kiyoshi's eyes identify him before he sways where he stands apparently nauseous. Hanamiya grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him out of the building with little to no consideration for his shift. 

He'll probably get fired anyway from scaring the customers. 

Hanamiya doesn't really enter his living room anymore. The couch his friend would sleep on, would get high on, would die on sits there, sun bleached and cold, it smells like bile surely. Simply stepping foot through the doorway makes his hands shake. 

Kiyoshi's barely present, enough to curl his large hand around Hanamiya's and drags him down a hall he doesn't know to Hanamiya's bedroom. 

He nips and bites at Kiyoshi, like the anger that presented itself in that cold forest never left. Has only laid dormant. Hidden in empty pill bottles and beneath sweat stained sheets. 

Kiyoshi just lets him do it. Lets his lips begin to bleed, lets his skin rise angrily as Hanamiya draws his nails down his arms. Hanamiya's breathing like he just breached the surface, choked and aggravated. 

"Fuck," Hanamiya pulls at his lip with his teeth, "be rough with me." anything to feel anything other than emptiness. 

Hanamiya chokes on his cock, Kiyoshi's heavy dripping cock. 

The bitter taste of come makes Hanamiya want to vomit. 

Kiyoshi digs his fingers into Hanamiya's hips hard enough to bruise and then some, fucks him relentlessly into the mattress. 

Hanamiya fights to breathe, and for the first time feels blissfully free. Kiyoshi's body is heavy draped over his like the dirt covering the body.

Maybe that would be preferable. 

Hanamiya wishes he didn't have to get up after this. 

Kiyoshi licks across the red irritated skin, the bruises will appear tomorrow morning surely. He swallows Hanamiya down like a man that's barely eaten, his hollowing face only strengthens the assumption.

"I don't think I can be alone." Kiyoshi murmurs into the tuft of hair at the base of Hanamiya's cock. It doesn't sound affectionate or sentimental. In the gentle vibration of Kiyoshi's lips is shame, shame and grief. 

Hanamiya swallows his spit and stares at the ceiling. 

He doesn't respond.


End file.
